The Issue of Icarus
by elle.writes
Summary: "How long has it been?" Tony asked, chin on his shoulder, mouth at his ear so that it was asked quietly but the question seemed to roar in Bruce's ear.


Title: The Issue of Icarus

Author: ELLE

Pairings/Warnings: Tony/Bruce, explicit sexual content, hand jobs, edging, PWP, explicit language

Notes: Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to use the pretentious title (you know who you are lol!) I found this reorganizing my documents and I was like "there's a fic sitting here fully done and never posted wtf?" I guess I deemed it not worth reading but you know, you be the judge of that.

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Despite his best efforts, it was impossible to deny Tony's coercive magnetism. It was like a supernatural force, clawing at him, pulling him in, and Bruce was dragging his teeth across Tony's jaw, trailing blistering kisses from his ear to his lips, brutal with how he forced them together, trying to close the distance between them on a molecular level.

Bruce knew better – he'd been through this before. How could he seemingly get stupider with age? Maybe he was just more desperate. But he didn't contemplate it for long as every hiss, every sigh from Tony's lips brought a renewed rush of blood burning through his veins and he couldn't stop.

And Tony – telling him to stop doing _anything_ he wanted to do was a completely useless proposition. His hands were all over, grabbing and pulling at Bruce's hair, running down his body and pulling him closer, gripping his ass and dragging him into his lap, biceps straining, pressing them together so hard it hurt.

But god – the pain was delicious. Bruce shifted his hips to get more, and more. His fingers trembled as they pulled at Tony's shirt, touching the smooth, sensitive skin above his pants, feeling the way his abs jumped and tensed under his hands, feeling how Tony's mouth slackened as his senses were overwhelmed.

For a brief moment Bruce hesitated and almost drew away but Tony muttered out a "fuck" as he brought his hand back up to the back of Bruce's head and drew him forward to his mouth again. His other hand fell to one of Bruce's, imparting confidence, showing him that he wanted this, wanted to be touched.

It was easy for Bruce to capitulated to his power, his assurance. He was so damn tired of questioning everything, of the constant vigilance. And that was it – wasn't it? Really? The reason he found himself in this position at all? From the moment time they met Tony made him feel safe, made him feel like he could let his guard down, that he could just _be_...

And this wasn't exactly something new. They'd kissed before, fumbled around a little bit – bleary eyed and exhausted or just on the far side of a little too drunk – so maybe it was inevitable. Like a comet circling a planet on a slowly degrading orbit, Bruce couldn't hold back forever. Eventually they were going to impact.

There was nothing particularly special about that moment, either, when it happened. Just too much pent up sexual frustration and sure, the while higher brain function he'd buried beneath lust would make sure he felt embarrassed by that, Tony clearly wasn't. And it was easier to just follow Tony's lead, let him hold him, carry him through.

So he didn't think as Tony lead his fingers up to brush against a hard nipple, eliciting a little intake of breath, a grin. He didn't think as he grasped the waist of Tony's pants, ground his hips forward, panting. He didn't think as he let Tony's teeth dig into his neck, sucking on it, leaving sensitive welts wherever his mouth found purchase. Instead Bruce was running on pure adrenaline as he tripped over the button on Tony's pants, fingers losing all dexterity as Tony's tongue and teeth found their way to his ear.

"You need more practice," Tony whispered, lingering amusement as his own hand found it's way to Bruce's pants, sliding the button from it's hole with ease.

Tony's nimble fingers pulled down his zipper as his mouth kissed Bruce's collarbone. Bruce felt the tension building in his gut, the air so thick with heat, with raw desire that it was hard to breath – but when Tony's fingers reached inside his heart rate skyrocketed and everything stopped.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Bruce was stumbling across the room, trying desperately to regain control of his heart as he put precious distance between himself and Tony. He could feel it, threatening, right there – _fuck_. Why did it have to be this way? He missed it, being touched, being – being _wanted_ , feeling _safe_.

He couldn't look in the mirror but he gripped the sink hard, breathing nothing more than uneven huffs, staring at his hands and willing them to stay a familiar shade of pale. What a stupid mistake. What was he going to do? He – he couldn't avoid Tony. He couldn't. He tried but...

And even as he thought it he heard Tony join him, felt his eyes studying him, the hesitation Tony felt a tangible thing between them that Bruce hated to feel, hated to appreciate.

But very carefully Tony reached out and touched his face, rough palm against his cheek, undaunted as always, though Bruce turned away, trying to bury his face in his opposite shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice soft as he drew his hand away – making Bruce's chest ache even though it was what he knew he should have wanted. "I thought you –"

Bruce turned his eyes back to Tony, knowing he must look like a caged animal to him, needy and wanting but dangerous and unpredictable. Of course he _wanted it_ , he tried to say with his eyes. _Of course_.

"Can I...?" Tony asked, moving forward, touching Bruce's hip lightly, causing a cacophony of goosebumps and a shiver to curl up Bruce's spine.

He wanted to beg – _yes, please, oh god don't hold back_ – but he couldn't make his mouth move, he could only watch Tony through tormented eyes and hope he understood.

For a moment he hesitated but then Tony pressed himself up against his back and Bruce couldn't help it, he melted back into Tony's embrace. His heart rate had slowed and despite what he wanted to think – that Tony was stupid, reckless, that he should've been more afraid, that he should've just left him the hell alone – he was just so damn grateful that Tony wasn't scared, that he came back and gave him the physical attention he craved so badly.

"How long has it been?" Tony asked, chin on his shoulder, mouth at his ear so that it was asked quietly but the question seemed to roar in Bruce's ear.

It wasn't even a question he could answer – he didn't know, it didn't matter. Tony kissed the back of his neck, lightly, buried his nose in the soft curls of his hair – this was enough. It was never enough but it was more than he deserved.

"Shhh, shhh," Tony murmured in his ear as one hand wound it's way over his thigh to his still open pants.

Bruce felt his heart began to race again, that primal fear twinging The Hulk, bringing out that protective part of him that destroyed his life.

"Shhh," Tony repeated, "breathe."

He was still hard from earlier and Tony's touch was electric, charging through him, his hands clamped on the sink so tight they hurt and he couldn't _breathe_ he couldn't even _think_ – he could only stand there begging his alter ego to stay put.

Tony didn't move, just held him for a moment, allowing him to acclimate, a constant string of soothing pleasantries whispered in his ear. Bruce could feel Tony's dick pressing up against his ass even through their clothes, could feel the heat and pressure of Tony's hand, and he tried to focus on his breathing, on his heart, but it was difficult. He wanted, _fuck_ but what he _wanted_ was for Tony to rip down his pants, take him in his mouth, suck him so hard it hurt, fuck him into the tile, touch him in the most intimate ways possible, in ways he hadn't been touched in so so long but... but even if Tony _wanted_ to do that, even he _had_ to know it wasn't possible.

"Hey, Bruce," he said instead, same calm, quiet voice, drawing him back to reality with _his_ name. "Breathe, okay? I'm going to... just breathe. In two three, out two three four."

Trembling, Bruce tried to focus on Tony's voice, make it the center of his universe, obey his gentle commands to breathe in, breathe out – when with slow, firm, deliberate movements he began to stroke.

Bruce wanted to writhe. He wanted to moan and buck his hips forward and force Tony's speed. Nothing seemed to have ever felt as good as that subtle friction and he wanted more – more more _more_...

But – but he trusted Tony more than he trusted himself right then. He knew what he wanted was impossible – brief visions of graphic violations blurred across the back of his eyelids just considering it – and Tony was there, forcing him to breathe, holding him patiently, considering his limitations. And so he let it all go and found himself sagging against Tony, using his body to support himself as much as his own legs. His tongue rested on his bottom lip, mouth open, head tilted back into Tony's shoulder, trying to follow Tony's breathing commands between little high-pitched whines of delicious desperation.

The fingers of Tony's other hand wrapped themselves in his curls and held his head back, lips brushing across the sensitive rim of his ear with every word. "Shhh baby," he would interject, speeding up just a little as Bruce's eyes, shut tight, would press even tighter together. He could feel Tony's hips grinding against his ass, could tell how difficult it was for Tony to keep it together, and he had to block it out, had to focus on just breathing.

Bruce felt like Icarus launched from the cliff. There were moments he would feel like he was soaring towards the sun, overwhelmed as Tony sped his hand up, so expertly, grip lose so the friction was _just_ enough to get him there, body strung tight, little moaning breath held painfully in his chest – and then Tony would stop and it felt like falling back to the waves on melting wings. He was left gasping for air, Tony slowing down with meticulous strokes that were firm and hard and Bruce would utterly deflate, sinking back into Tony again. But the waves could wreck him just as surely as the sun and so he was poised between, ascending into the sky only to slip back towards the surf when it nearly burned him up.

But finally Tony was panting too, breathing commands no longer so calm, his chest sticking with sweat to Bruce's back and Bruce didn't think he could keep going, not like this. He had to stop him, had to stop this. It was like torture – the best torture he'd felt in years, absolutely wonderful, and he was sure he'd have an appalling number of wet dreams revolving around this one little incident but – all good things come to an end. And he couldn't – he couldn't...

Tony sped up again, quicker than Bruce was anticipating, hardly giving him a moment to react as he pressed hot lips to his ear and whispered one last command –

"Come."

Bruce groaned as he came, loud and unapologetic, whole body shuddering as his fingers locked tight on the cool porcelain sink, trying to hold himself up so he didn't drag Tony down with him as his knees went weak. He didn't even notice the way Tony panted, the way he pressed Bruce's hips back into his own, hard. It had been _so_ goddamn _long_...

"Fucking _hot_ ," Tony growled, coming in his pants only moments later, clinging to Bruce like an unsteady life raft as they rode out a moment of bliss together.

Tony kissed the back of Bruce's sweaty neck, unclamping his fingers from his hair and running them appreciatively down his body before staggering over towards the shower to turn it on. Bruce slumped to the floor, grabbing a hand towel on the way down to attempt to wipe up his mess. But instead he found himself sitting limp, staring appreciatively beneath half-lidded eyes at Tony as he pulled off his t-shirt and hit a button to turn up the temperature on the water.

It had been years, he knew that – years without anything more than wet dreams that had him waking in a panic, unable to maintain hard-fought control in his sleep. He hadn't figured it out, hadn't thought it possible – but Tony had. In retrospect it seemed he must've known beforehand, or at least considered it. The slow build, never getting his heart rate too high, then overwhelming him before he had a chance to really think about it. It was genius, really, and Tony had thought about it. Tony had given that to him.

The sudden burst of affection he felt for the other man bordered on agonizing as his chest constricted and he struggled to breathe. Bruce had a tendency to fall a little too hard and a little too fast for anyone who went out of their way to be kind to him and knew, _knew_ , it was a bad idea but his heart ached and he wanted to curl up against Tony, wrap him in his arms and never, ever let him go.

But of course, he would have to. He _always_ had to.

"Ew," Tony complained, laughing, as he carefully pulled off his pants. "That always feels so thirteen."

"Always?" Bruce tried to joke back with a lopsided smile but his eyes were wet and he was pretty sure his voice cracked there at the end too.

Tony turned to him and offered his hand and Bruce figured the scene couldn't be more cliche if one of Tony's damn 80's rock ballads started playing but that was how he felt, accepting that hand and standing, even though Tony let him have his dignity but not calling him out on crying.

"We can cuddle later, big guy," Tony teased effortlessly, not even turned off by his unfortunate display of emotion. What did Bruce do to deserve him? "Let's get a shower first."


End file.
